


the stars stretch out before me (and I am alone for a thousand years)

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Rescue, Non-STID Compliant, Pike Lived, Pining, Pining Spock, Romance, Sadness, T'hy'la, Thanksgiving, Unrequited Love, gratitude, spock's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: After rescuing Jim from death during "peaceful" negotiations, Spock contemplates the love he harbors for him. A man he can never have. For Spock had saved Leonard, too.He is resigned to watch Jim from afar. Forever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this ficlet a couple months ago, decided it was too sad —and put it away. I pulled it out this afternoon and finished it as I worked through some feelings of melancholy. It was cathartic for me, and by sharing this fic, I hope that it helps someone else. I know the holidays aren’t always easy, and, oddly enough, sometimes a sad song—or story—can help. At least for me. :)
> 
> But I digress. This fic is very different from anything I’ve ever written, and on some level, probably the saddest fic I’ve written, too. I do apologize for putting Spock through this hardship. I mean no offense. I treasure Spock as a character, this is just something different I was inspired to write.

Behind the glass and beyond reach for a second time, Spock observes as a worn but stalwart doctor sets his jaw and leans forward in his hoverchair to be nearer to his lover. That man is asleep and unaware for the fourth consecutive day, but Leonard presses a faint kiss—a stolen kiss—to his bruised forehead, nonetheless. Then a second. And a third, without stopping there. He continues downward, towards his jaw, relief etched on his face.

Leonard finishes his sweeping ministrations of adoration with one more kiss at the corner of Jim’s slackened mouth, which is propped open by the tube snaked down his throat. The doctor’s shoulders quake, as from a sob, and a tear slides down his cheek.

The kisses are tender, much like the ones he would give Jim in his dreams as they lounge in bed, curled up languidly and unpressed to leave the bed or the warmth of each other’s arms. Spock cannot help but long to do the same as Leonard is doing. To touch what is most precious to him.

He quickly banishes the thought of shoving the doctor aside. They—the Captain and the Doctor—have done no wrong, and he cannot fault Leonard for behaving in this manner. Indeed, he would do the same.

Jim Kirk is his sun. Jim Kirk had nearly died, is now in a coma. When he will awaken is undetermined. His injuries are too severe to for him to awaken, though Dr. Boyce has assured them the worst has passed.

“That was too close,” murmurs the man standing next to Spock.

“It was...unacceptable,” he replies in a detached voice, the only way to survive the suffocating nature of his own loss.

He clasps his hands behind him, delicately squeezing them. It is the outward sign of his weariness and strain, and no one sees. He must stop himself from descending into a state of emotional turmoil somehow. But alone. Not here.

“I hate to think what we'd be doing now, if you hadn't been there, Spock,” Pike says, his posture, too, revealing the taxing nature of Leonard and Jim’s injuries. On the Admiral’s face are deep furrows of sadness where there should be crow’s feet, worry reflecting from his eyes where there should be only relief, a mouth drawn tightly where it should be relaxed as he delights in their safe return. “One more second, and Jim would not have been given a fighting chance.”

He silently begs him to keep quiet, for it had been less than a second, his reflexes nearly losing to a second and third Roggolian spear that had materialized out of thin air. Of course, Spock does not beg. He does not submit to this fire in his being which roars at him, demanding that he be the one by Jim’s side.

The Admiral speaks freely.

“I won't lie to you, Spock,” Pike continues, the break in his voice a testament of his own devotion to them. “We should be holding two funerals today. At least we found out about the Roggolians’ true nature before it was too late.”

Spock draws in a breath, a painful, non-lasting, erroneous breath to steady himself. He would press his hand against the glass in front of him but it would not help. The familiar touch would merely transport him back to the past, to a devastating memory. What has haunted for him for one year has yet to relinquish its hold on him.

Can he continue on in this madness? Can he avoid his t’hy’la forever? Can he allow them their love without tarnishing it with his own?

“Jim doesn't have nine lives. He has ninety-nine,” Pike says with a humorless laugh. He pulls away and stares at Spock, grim except for the hint of gratitude in his eyes. “And McCoy does now, too. He lived because he was with Jim, right by his side. Because you only had time to save one, and they were already there, together.”

He wants to plead for him to stop. His mind demands it. His heart is bleeding like the bodies of his friends were three days prior. Profusely, with almost nothing to staunch the flow, only his meager attempts at meditation and the rewarding selfishness that _he_ would be captaining his t’hy’la’s ship in his stead. No one else.

“Doctor Boyce is to be commended,” Spock says to anchor himself properly in the conversation.

“He is our top surgeon at Starfleet General, and those surgeries are proof as to why he can never retire. I will forever be grateful, to him and to Dr. M’Benga,” Pike says softly, but his eyes narrow on Spock. “Go home. Rest. They’re fine. You've been here since the beginning.”

And he would remain through the end.

“Fine has variable definitions. Fine is unacceptable,” he speaks robotically.

If he is automatic and cold as others often perceive him, he can perform admirably.

Yet, Jim had never preferred it. How often had Jim encouraged him to embrace him as who he was, both human and Vulcan.

Enough to make his soul conjure its most hidden and dangerous desires.

Pike leans in and looks sternly at him. He finds himself wilting under the inspection, as if Pike was his captain. Was _Jim_.

“Go home,” the Admiral presses. “It’s Thanksgiving. I’m sure the rest of the senior bridge crew are waiting for you on the second floor.”

His confusion must show on his face, for Pike frowns.

“You didn’t know?” Pike asks. “Dinner will be in the cafeteria, with a turkey and all the trimmings. They’ve decided to stay with their captain tonight. With Leonard. To show their support.”

And so will he. He cannot leave Jim’s presence, even under a direct order. He has not been allowed to see Jim. Though Leonard has.

He has not been allowed… _to see him._

Will he ever? Will he ever be permitted inside that marvelous, brilliant mind? To touch the place above Jim’s beating heart? Will Jim ever look upon him like he does Leonard?

“I…” He swallows. He pushes aside what he cannot have. More of him dies when he does. “Cannot.”

“Okay,” Pike says, nodding. “I can see that. If you change your mind, Spock, I’ll be there too. I know this is hard, what could have hap—”

Spock looks sharply at him, cutting him off. “We must not dwell on the possibilities, but what did transpire.” He straightens his shoulders, but his eyes soften on Jim in spite of himself. “It is logical.”

 _This_ is what they should be thankful for.

 _Life_.

Pike’s arm twitches, like he wants to put his hand on his shoulder, embrace him, comfort him, somehow. He hesitates, and the moment is lost.

Spock, illogically, wishes he had moved forward, following through with his intentions to offer him comfort.

He has no one.

But Jim.

And he does not even have _him_.

“I’ll be back,” Pike says, giving Jim and Leonard another glance through the glass. But he stares one last time at Spock—and for the longest. “Don’t forget, Commander. We are by your side, too.”

“I am...grateful,” Spock says despite the deadening, unsaid words that he keeps from them all.

_You are my t’hy’la._

_Jim. T’hy’la._

The words are one and the same.

“I know you aren’t unfamiliar with our celebrations, given Jim’s penchant for over decorating the Enterprise during the holidays. Thus, I feel inclined to say Happy Thanksgiving to you,” Pike says softly. “I know Jim would want us to gather together. Come see the crew, if you can.” He turns and heads down the hallways, the place where he had once stood now cold.

Twenty-two seconds later, Spock’s humanity overcomes his inherent logic. He can no longer bear it. He closes his eyes and reaches his hand up to the glass.

He does what he must to continue with gratitude that his t’hy’la is alive, Jim’s beating heart monitored on the screens surrounding him, his breath coming out in short puffs—and his hand enclosed in Leonard’s desperate grip.

Spock parts his fingers, pressing them against the glass with determination. “Live long—and prosper,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the cool surface, the closest he can come to Jim.

He will join the crew later, for he is grateful. How can he not be?

_How can he not be?_

Jim, although not his own, is the reason for his very breath and existence, is alive.

He opens his eyes and sees Leonard, resting his head on the bed by Jim’s hip, still clutching their captain’s hand.

As he should be.

He hisses out a breath. He knows what is his path. He has always known. He must be grateful for what he has. He must not dwell on nor hold to the fragile hope that, one day, his t’hy’la will realize the truth.

The crew is waiting. The crew will want to know. The crew will look to him. He will not fail his t’hy’la. He will give him no cause to worry once he awakens.

He will not complicate his life with his affections.

He slowly steps away, the echoes of his footsteps heard by no one.

It is the same with the erratic patterings and the feverish, inconsolable longings of his aching heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please, review? 
> 
> XX


End file.
